


The Slytherin Super Spy and the Almost-Deaf Hufflepuff

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (quidditch is actually quite important please note that), Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Quidditch, alternative universe, deaf!Clint is mentioned, losers in love, more ships to come later, slytherin!nat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:25:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a fine Tuesday evening when Natasha Romanoff had concluded that either this Barton kid was even deafer than she'd originally thought, or simply batshit stupid… So why on earth did she like him so much?</p><p>A series of short ficlets based around our favorite master assassins and their adventure at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One : Hell Hath No 'Fury' Like Natasha Scorned

Natasha Romanoff never thought it to be possible for someone to be rejected for the eighteenth time in a row without even feeling  _slightly_  discouraged. That is, until she met the Hufflepuff enigma known as Clint Barton. He came to Hogwarts six years ago, half-deaf and grinning like an idiot when Professor Flitwick suggested a charm that worked ten times better than the measly muggle hearing aid he had given up trying to fix. And after that, the quiet and heartwarming Hufflepuff hasn't even shut up  _once_.

(It also came as no surprise for her to learn that he shared friendly relations with the one and only Anthony ' _Tony_ ' Stark. It wasn't much of a mystery where his annoyingly stubborn persistence came from. After all, she had been down a path somewhat similar with the older Ravenclaw many,  _many_  times.)

"Aw, 'Tasha, please?" She grimaced at the nickname;  _where do people even come up with these? Wasn't Natasha a perfectly nice, suitable, and English name?_

"No."

"I'll pay."

"Yeah, still no." Natasha smirked discreetly as she saw Barton huff in annoyance from the corners of her eyes. Perhaps she hadn't given him enough credit? It's not everyday that a mere muggleborn Hufflepuff attempts to woo the notoriously skilled pureblood so-called queen of Slytherins. Well, it wasn't so much as ' _wooing_ ' as relentlessly ask the same question over and over again.

She wasn't sure if he was brave or just stupid.

' _Natalia_  darling, please. You're breaking little Clint's heart." The obnoxious voice coming from the table to their left piped up.

'Stark, I've warned you. Don't call my by  _that_  name – Romanoff will do just  _fine_. Better yet, just don't address me at all.' She replied coldly, slamming her potions textbook onto the wooden table in what she hoped to be a threateningly manner. Stark merely raised his eyebrows.

"Ooh, watch out, everyone.  _Someone_  woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Why, did your plan of terrorizing firsties on your way to transfigurations not work out?" He grinned cheekily. "Or has it really been that long since … you  _know_." He wagged his eyebrows in what she supposed was a lewd and suggestive manner.

Did she mention she really,  _really_  hated Stark? Without a moment's hesitation, she snatched Barton's (who, now that she thought about it, had been laughing too hard to properly protest) textbook and proceeded to whack Stark in the head with it. The loud ' _whap!'_  sound created by the book connecting with his stupid, empty, and overtly egotistic numbskull brain was very satisfying indeed.

"Well, I can't say it's been pleasant…"

"Your  _personality_  isn't pleasant." Stark grumbled under his breath, still massaging his aching scalp. Natasha wanted to grin triumphantly. ' _Serves you right, Starky-Barky.'_  But she didn't. What respectable, elegant, and classy pureblood lady would do something so childish? Never mind that she physically attacked him there and then-  _details, details_.

Gathering up her scrolls and parchment, she hurried out of the library before either Madam Pince or Clint Barton had to chance to catch up to her.

The sharp sound of her heels clicking upon the marble floors echoed throughout the walls of stone enclosing her. Once again, she turned around; making sure that no one was followed her. Shaking the creeping feeling of paranoia that gave her goose bumps, Natasha picked up the pace and continued down to the dungeons.

Despite what most of the Hogwarts population believed, the dungeons weren't nearly as cold as they think. (But then again, she had grown up in  _Oymyakon_ , the coldest place known to man.) The hearth of the flame burnt gently in the fireplace, flickering lights casting shadows on the plush green chairs placed in front of it.

She was the heir to the  _Romanova_  family, and daughter of the Soviet. It wasn't a responsibility many could understand. Perhaps Stark did. After all, it was the one thing both of them never brought up in their petty fights- a silent vow, a line not to be crossed. Natasha supposed Stark considered her to be his friend, in a twisted way. And Natasha didn't harbor nearly as much negative emotion for him as she led on. It's just that neither of them is good at making friends, and both of them  _spectacular_  at making enemies.

"Romanoff?" She turned around, and nodded curtly when she spotted the head boy addressing her. Nicholas Fury was widely respected among the Slytherins; in many years past, Gryffindors tend to be chosen for prefectural and head person duties than not. It wasn't common for other houses to take the lead. Natasha had considered going for the spot herself many times; the only problem being she wasn't the friendliest person around. (Though, neither was Nick, actually.)

"Fury. Can I help you?"

"No." Natasha frowned. "Someone dropped this off for you." Wordlessly, she accepted the slightly crumpled parchment and resisted the urge to groan.

_Will you (please) go to Hogsmeade with me?_

_-C. Barton (H)_

The dreaded question. Even when he wasn't here, he was still bothering her. What part of ' _no', 'no!'_ and  _'definitely not'_  did he fail to understand? Sensing her growing agitation, Fury chuckled.

"Word of advice, Romanoff. Half of Slytherin already thinks you two are secretly hooking up because you haven't punched him into oblivion yet. You're really not convincing anyone but yourself with these rejections."

Natasha thought she really,  _really_  hated Fury at times, too. And no, it didn't escape her notice that she never once thought about hating Barton.

And Fury noticed she didn't exactly deny his last statements either.

* * *

 _**A/N:** _ _Around a year ago, I had a poll on my old account asking which couple from Avengers people liked most and wanted a fic of, and Clintasha won! I never did get to writing the prompt (Hogwarts AU) , but I figured now's a good time as any to start it._

_However, I'm changing it to multi-chaptered ficlets that take part in different POVs and at different times, but is ultimately the same story! Sort of like a series of one-shots that built up the whole story. I also tried making the characters seem younger personality-wise (Natasha especially) because they're still teenagers and are a lot younger than they were in canon._

_I hope you guys enjoy it! If you do, then please comment/review. It really makes my day! ^-^_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the Harry Potter or Marvel franchises, and do not claim to. No profit is being made off this, and nor will any be sought. The cover image does not belong to me. However, the plot and dialogue are entirely my creation. ]


	2. Love At First Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed and EXTREMELY rushed. Also, strangely poetic and weirdly deep and a lot more serious than the fic is meant to be ;^;
> 
> Forgive me, my beautiful readers.  
> (Ay, at least the Maximoff twins will make an appearance next chapter, right?)

It took Clint three full years of denial and another eight months of teasing from his friends to come to terms with the fact he was in love with the elusive Slytherin princess known as Natasha Romanoff, _Black Widow_. (Rumor has it she jinxed her ex-boyfriend until he landed in the hospital wing, but no one had enough evidence to openly accuse her— she had a steel-like alibi, apparently. It was either that, or the fact that many believe the Romanoff family gained their status and wealth by killing off their spouses right after their wedding night that had ended up giving her the alias of the deadliest spider. Clint wasn’t sure which one was worse.)  

Nevertheless, Clint was head-over-heels in love with her. A dumb move, really. But Clint wasn’t a Ravenclaw; he was indeed a ‘ _good ol’ jolly pain-in-the-arse Hufflepuff_ ’ just like Tony said. The heart wants what it wants, after all.

It was only infatuation at first. Love always starts that way — and in some cases, end that way. The fiery red hair and cool gaze that burned brighter than fiendfyre. She was the perfectly sculpted silhouette that sat beside him during Transfigurations — and then the shadow, lurking during the History of Magic in the very back row. It was the way she insisted quidditch was a pointless sport and yet still managed excellent maneuvers and elegant twists and turns no other player could ever dream of pulling off during class. It was the way she’d tuck wisps of spidery hair that shone like the hearth of a fire place behind her ears when she took notes. Notes that never strayed off or ended up tilted like Clint’s. The round ink dots of her ‘i’s and the loop in her ‘g’s. She was unattainable. Ethereal. Porcelain.

Not real. 

But eventually Clint began to notice other things, too. The way she seemed so unsure during Herbology. It wasn’t a big deal, but he took note of it anyway. She tilted her head down instead of up when the teacher was talking. She hesitated before digging into the dirt. Was she a germaphobe? It was very much possible— she’d grown up as a princess in her very own palace, after all. Someone so high and mighty would never get even a smidgen of dirt on themselves. So Clint did the stupid thing and asked if she wanted him to help her with it.

Natasha just glared at him. Clint never offered again.

She didn’t like her bread with too much crust or toast, and preferred strawberry jam over butter during breakfast. After fifth year, she ate blueberry scones. She was always a little late to Arithmancy. The only bad grade she’s ever gotten was during Divinations — a class she ended up taking because her parents were against muggle studies. Her nose twitches a little after she sneezes, and she always smelled faintly like ash wood and cider, when she isn’t wearing perfume. She loses her cool at Stark more often than anyone else, _combined_. She takes ballet, despite her parent’s distaste towards anything muggle. She dislikes all sweets, other than coconut ice and crystallized pineapple. She uses twirly straws.

These were all the things that made her so _shockingly_ human.

Now, perhaps you’d think Clint was a little obsessed with Natasha. But remember, six years is a long time— and even longer when one is in love.

But it wasn’t for a long time before he actually _fell in_ love. Perhaps he had been simply skittering around the edges, testing the waters and waddling through the shallow ends. In fact, he could recall the precise moment he, Clint Barton, fell truly in love with one Natalia Alianovna Romanov.

He had been rushing late to dinner, that day. His Defense Against the Dark Arts professor insisted he stay late to work on his wand movements (Merlin dear, imagine what Tony would say about _that_.) By the time he was released, he had been famished. Needless to say, he had been distracted and kids were known to be cruel to those in no position to retaliate. The overwhelmingly similar feeling took over and the charm shimmered away, leaving him with nothing but silence. He was deaf again. In the middle of the corridor, with three overly smug faces grinning back at him.

_Why could he still feel their mocking laughter?_

He wanted to scream, to cry, to yell. But he couldn’t. Thinking back now, it was rather foolish. It was nothing but a group of seventh years being immature douchebags. Besides, Professor Flitwick was right in the great hall, a few steps away from where he was. He could’ve walked in and asked any of the professors for help. Instead, he stood there, like an idiot while the three of them made obscene gestures and teased him mercilessly.

Just as he was about to break out into a run and hurry back to the dorms and hide until a professor came to find him, the door to the great hall miraculously flung open and a group of fourth year Slytherins walked out, chatting amongst themselves. Natasha hung at the back of the group, murmuring to another Slytherin girl (June? April? _May_?) until she spotted him. Her gaze darted between the seventh years and him, frowning. In a flurry of green and black robes, the rest of the Slytherins scattered and disappeared, leaving only Natasha behind. Before any of the seventh years even had time to react, her fist made solid contact with their face. Clint was pretty sure there was some sort of ‘ _crack’_ involved, judging by the pained expression they wore. Before any of them could begin register what was happening, she had already managed to knock them both onto the floor, wincing the pain.  

And then she was gone. She didn’t even look at him, at all. And the next day, it was as if nothing had even happened. At least Clint was smart enough to finally get away before he could be put to blame for the whole mess that occurred. The seventh years must’ve fled too, seeing as no Professor mentioned a single word about students being attacked the night before.

All in all, life was almost back to normal again. Clint could ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest at the memory of losing his hearing abruptly for the second time in his life, if only to keep himself from going insane.

And if one were to look closely enough, you could almost see a flicker of love— true love blossoming within him. All the mundane things he had disregarded about Natasha suddenly became his favorite parts of her. All the things that made him worship her on a pedestal suddenly collapsed into rubble. Her tiara shattered, but her eyes held an entire galaxy of jewels. He no longer looked at her through the delusion of perfection— he saw her as human, composed of flesh and bone and not fine marble.

And he was sure that when he finally worked up the courage to look her in the eyes, he saw something change in her as well.

...


	3. He's a Chaser but Only Because She's a Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop trying to defend that butthead, Barton.” Natasha rolled her eyes “We all saw him blowing kisses at Carter to make Rogers mad during the last match. Gryffindors won that round 250 points to 30. Potts hadn’t exactly been happy about that. For a Ravenclaw, his head is rather empty, isn’t it?”

** _Heart beats fast  
_** ** _Colors and promises_ **

** _How to be brave?  
_** ** _How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?_ **

** _But watching you stand alone,  
_** ** _All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow._ **

** _…_ **

** _One step closer_ **

 

* * *

 

Blasted-end Skrewts on a hot Wednesday morning definitely had a shot at being the world’s worst combination of things that lead to ultimate misery. Dipping her quill into the ink jar balanced on her leg, Natasha blew a lock of her hair out of her eyes frustratedly.The sky was clear that day, but the air around them practically sizzled with humidity. The drops of sweat beaded at her forehead unpleasantly; spending most of her time within the confines of the Slytherin dungeons really did nothing for her heat resistance at all.

Sneaking a glance sideways, she was somewhat relieved to see Barton wasn’t much better off. The Hufflepuff had rolled up his sleeves up to his elbows and was fidgeting his tie awkwardly. Again, that might’ve been because of one of those damn bugs of dripping goo had aimed straight for his neck as he attempted to feed them. Care of Magical Creatures apparently wasn’t his best subject. She grinned slightly at the memory— it _had_ been quite funny, at least after Hagrid announced that the kid was going to live. She definitely hadn’t been worried, or anything. It was just that, well, contrary to popular belief, Natalia wasn’t the heartless ice bitch-queen almost everyone thought she was. Sure, she was assertive, independent, quiet, anti-social,— all of which can come off as rude.

Clint struggled to keep a smile off his face and coo as he watched the object of his affections have an internal debate of some sort. It was just, well, she was so _cute_. Whenever she frowned, her eyebrow would pull together and give off the air of a confused child lost in the supermarket. Absolutely adorable. (Well, until they started crying, that is. Somehow, he doubted Natasha would do _that_.) He just hoped that above everything else, she didn’t have some sort of super-human ability to read minds too. She’d probably punch him or stuff a skrewt down his shirt. The Slytherin may be cunning, smart, and beautiful— but never it be said she was _nice_. He nudged her side gently, her dazed expression quickly changing into a shocked one as she began to realize the crunching nose came from the skrewt that leeched onto the edge of her notes. Clint resisted the urge to laugh as she twitched her nose in disgust before peeling the thing off and throwing it back into the crate.

“So…” He coughed, looking at her expectantly. “Have you heard about Gryffindor’s new Quidditch recruits?”

“…The twins.” She replied, some what off-handedly as she returned to her now skrewt-free parchment. “Third years, right?”

“Er… Yeah. Heard they’re really good.” She hummed at his response.

“Not in particular. The guy’s fast, yeah, but his technique isn’t worth the salt. We’ll just keep an extra set of eyes on him.” 

“His name is Maximoff, I think.”

“Hm.” Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. “I know. Pietro? His sister is Wanda Maximoff. She’s alright- but not anything spectacular. A lot less hot-headed than her brother, that’s for sure.” Was he imagining it, or did she actually sound _worried_?

Clint whistled. “For someone who claims to not like Quidditch, you sure pay a lot of attention to the teams, eh?” The glare he received reminded him vaguely of the one Tony always gives when Clint asks what a certain Science-y word means. Usually, it means his question was stupid and if he knew what was good for him, he should shut up while he can.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Nicholas Fury put me in as a substitute for Ward after his injury last year. The least I can do is keep on top of things and do a decent enough job so Slytherin doesn’t fall behind.” 

“But you’re loads better than that fourth year fellow!” Clint protested.

“That’s only because you Hufflepuffs have no standards.”

“Hey!” Clint protested, “I’ll have you know-“ He froze in his tracks, amazed at the sight before him. Natasha, the cold and distant Slytherin was - oh merlin -  _smiling_. (Who knew she had _dimples_?) Her eyes were downcast, and Clint could only see her profile from where he sat. Her eyelashes were fanned out, her eyes focused on the page in front of her. Her medium length hair was swept to one side, their usual uniform straightness undone by the humid air; instead, they were wavy- not unlike the way she wore it during their first year. Her lips were a pale pink, free of her usual ruby red lipstick and dry from the heat.  

Yet again, Clint found him wondering what it’d feel like to kiss them over and over again until they were no longer dry, until her cheeks flushed the same lovely shade of red as her hair.

“S-so.” Clint stuttered, pretending to focus back on the task at hand. (Shame— he’d much rather study the beautiful red-head sitting right beside him rather than the crate full of hybrid bugs that smelled horrible. Natasha _never_ smelled horrible. Ugh.) “I was thinking… We should team up against the new recruits.”

“What?”

“Yeah… I mean, of course the match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff is another matter altogether, but at least this way one of us would be the champion.” He babbled, looking nervously at Natasha out of the corner of his eyes. _Merlin, she must think I’m the dumbest guy on the planet right now._

“You… Have a valid point.” _Wait, what?_ “It does make sense. Gryffindors are naturally suspicious of Slytherins— it’d be difficult to get them to voluntarily tell us anything about the twins. Hufflepuffs would seem more trustworthy.” She nodded, as Clint sat there, unable to respond out of shock.

“Wait… But aren’t you concerned Hufflepuffs would end up lying to you with false information?”

“Yes, because we definitely wouldn’t at least check all the information once-over to ensure what we were told were correct, even if it were coming from the house with more virtue and righteousness in one student than the entire Slytherin student body combined. Who do you think we _are? Gryffindors?_ Besides.” She smirked. “We’re your only real competition this year. The Ravenclaws haven’t even won a single game, and I know for a fact most of you aren’t even in for winning— it’d be positively _awful if even one of you were made to believe you won unfairly_.”

“I suppose that’s true. But Tony’s actually a pretty good-“

“Stop trying to defend that butthead, Barton.” Natasha rolled her eyes “We all saw him blowing kisses at Carter to make Rogers mad during the last match. Gryffindors won that round 250 points to 30. Potts hadn’t exactly been happy about that. For a Ravenclaw, his head is rather empty, isn’t it?”

Clint laughed. “That’s true. You want to meet up and talk about how we’re going to pull this off sometime?”

“Sure, why not?” Natasha replied, perhaps a little too distracted for her own good.

“Guess it’s a date, then?” He grinned, watching Natasha roll her eyes and groan in realization. It was that moment — an overly sunny day in the middle of October — when Clint Barton resolved to one day make Natasha Romanov smile at the idea of a date with him. Perhaps he wasn’t a Slytherin, but Hufflepuffs are known for working hard, after all. And he knew he’d do whatever he had to if only to reach that goal and have the love of his life fall in love with him too.

What he didn’t know was that the plan had been set in motion a long time ago.


	4. со́лнышко

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Vague descriptions of violence and blood; proceed with caution if known to be triggered.

**DECEMBER 16TH, 1988**

Fresh fallen snow. Natalya doesn’t get it; her papa always told her she had skin the shade of fresh fallen snow, like an angel. But looking at it now, _snow_ was nothing like the skin on her face, the bridge of her nose, or the scraped edges of her elbows. The bruises she got from falling down the stairs pulsed dark blue; the snow never did that. She doesn’t remember much; just that she wanted to touch the snow so very, very much. _Maman_ , she asked. _Why can’t I go outside? I’m five now; I swear I’ll behave._  

_Because the bad men will you get you, my darling. It’s for your own good._

_But-_ Natalya never saw any bad men. She never saw anybody except her maman and papa. Papa always boasted this was the safest manor in the whole wide world. Was he lying?

_But nothing, my love._ Maman kissed her forehead tenderly, smoothing the soft and velvety red curls framing her face. _Your papa and I love you, forever and forever. Please remember that._

And remember that, she did.

The next time it snowed outside, Natalya simply drew her curtains shut and went back to reading.

* * *

**MARCH 20TH, 1990**

Natalya. Natasha. _My darling_. _Black Widow_.

Her feet ached and throbbed- but she held still firmly. She bit her lip, praying that her shuddering legs wouldn’t give out and fail her _now_.

“Is that what you call _En Pointe_ , Natalya? Start over.” The condescending voice of her tutor rang clear and strong, throughout the empty room. Natalya frowned, gently lowering the heels of her foot back down on the grainy wooden floors. Sneaking a glance towards the mirrored walls, she raised her shaking hands and tuck in a stray lock of her spidery red hair out of instinct. Her ankles were swollen, and there was no doubt blood gathered at the tip of her shoes. The bags under her eyes worn on heavier than her aching arms. 

_It’s simple, Natalya. Don’t tell me you’re struggling. Perhaps I was wrong— you’re not worthy of the title Black Widow after all._

And for the first time in her life, Natalya felt as pathetic as she looked.

* * *

**APRIL 2ND, 1990**

Gunshots being fired. Ear-piercing screams coming from the room across the hall. Navy-blue wallpaper tainted with a crude red.

_Hush, my darling Natalya. Hush._ Soft hands hovering over her eyes, trapping the tears threatening to spill over.

The screams soon became the only noise human beings besides her parents ever made in her presence.

* * *

**DECEMBER 20TH 1992**

_“Remember now, darling. You’re no longer Natalya.”_

_“Yes, papa. I understand.”_ Hands tucked behind her back. Head held high, but obediently. It was the only way she stayed out of trouble. On Christmas eve, Natalya- no, _Natasha_ , would find herself all alone in the manor for the first time in many, many years. Both of her parents were going to be brought in for a ‘ _briefing_ ’ from the Union. The look he gave Natasha instantly sent chills up her spine— there was no mistaking on what _exactly_ the briefing was going to be about. The glamour cast upon her was uncomfortable to say the least, but it had been necessary. If anyone caught wind of the fact the Romanov daughter was left unguarded, she’d be in serious trouble.

_“Study hard, Natasha.”_   The way her papa pronounced her english name made her uncomfortable. She much preferred ‘Natalya’— a nice, native name that rolled off her tongue like silk from a spider’s web. Natasha didn’t sound nearly as pretty. _“Your wand gestures need much work— your usual latin tutor will stop by every three days”_ Natasha counted the days in her head - Wednesday would be their first meeting.

_“Yes, papa. I will do my best.”_

_“See that you do.”_

 Maman leant down and gave Natasha her customary peck on the forehead and patted her -now dull brown- hair, before reaching down for their luggage. _Be well, my sweet. To me, you’ll always be Natalya, not Black Widow, not Natasha. I love you, Natalya._

 The words came out as nothing more than a whisper, but somehow to young Natasha, it spoke more volume than anything _papa_ has ever said to her. Did that mean she loved Maman more than Papa? Did she love any of them, really?

_No, not at all._

She put on the most innocent smile she could muster. _“I love you too, Maman.” And I will always say so, if only to make you happy._ It became like a mantra to the young pureblood— a statement, a belief, nailed straight into her head. She could say it without her heart skipping a single beat. _Was that normal, to lie to one’s own mother?_

The next time she thought of this, it was snowing again. Oh, but she wanted to touch it so very badly. Snow— she learned from her tutor it was only water, but at a much cooler temperature. _Is that why it’s a solid instead of a liquid? Yes._ It reminded her of the ice cubes maman has in her tea. She’d stir it with honey from a silver spoon, and Natalya would always watch as papa frowned in frustration and scolded maman for not using a cooling charm instead.

It was always the same. Other families had conversations about where to place the laundry so no one would accidentally free a house elf, or whether or not piano lessons were essential in the pureblood society nowadays. The Romanovs had heated (no pun intended) debates about long island ice teas.

Mature as she was, Natasha was still only a nine year old. Curiosity always gets the best of children, and eventually Natasha found herself gently lifting up a window, and sneaking glances back at her door as if her parents weren’t already long gone.

The snow was soft, but it burnt. Cold. Fluffy. Strange. It began to melt in her hand— and Natasha found herself wishing she could be as cold as the snow if only so that it wouldn’t dissolve away in her palm. _Was this what her parents were so adamant on protecting her from?_ Natalya was mad. Mad at her parents, mad at her tutor, but above all, mad at herself. Suddenly, an idea hit her. A dangerous, risky, and crazy idea.

Eying the floo with caution, Natasha— no, _Natalya. She’ll call herself whatever she damn well pleases, thank you—_ threw her winter coat over her shoulders and grabbed a handful of floo powder. She watched as it slipped between her finger tips and into the hearth, instantly turning it bright green. Only then did she realize she didn’t have anywhere to go, or even know how to return back to the manor. The one place she’d ever travelled to floo by was a place in London, England. It was dark, and she didn’t like it— but she needed to be outside, _now_.

_“Knockturn Alley!”_

* * *

Natalya couldn’t be sure where she was _exactly_ , but it certainly was _not_ where she intended to go. The smell of century-old wood and cheap alcohol assaulted her senses.

“Excuse me.” She knocked at the wooden table, getting the attention of the who she assumed to be the bartender. “Um… Where am I?” The bartender frowned.

“You shouldn’t be here without your parents, little girl.” Natalya bristled— she wasn’t _little!_ “Nevertheless, you’re in the Leaky Cauldron. Did you come from Diagon Alley?” Natalya shook her head.

“No. Is this a pub?” She winced slightly at her own strange accent. English evidently was not her strongest suit.

“Yes.” He chuckled. “‘Fraid I can’t sell you anything though. You’re underage.”

“Well, then, goodbye.” She replied coldly. If everyone she met were as rude as he was, Natalya could understand her parent’s wishes to keep her hidden. _Her parents._ The mere thought of them made her feel ashamed. Pushing that feeling aside, her gaze averted to the door on her left.

 Pushing it open, she walked out determinedly without a second thought— only to run straight into somebody else. _Were they about to enter the pub? Should I warn them about the rude servers?_

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Natalya nodded and accepted the hand held toward her, pulling her back onto her feet. “Where did you come from? I didn’t even see you there.” The boy grinned, his almond-brown eyes gazing into hers intently. He had honey blond hair, sticking out wildly. He looked like he had been running when Natalya bumped into him.

“I-“ She coughed. “U-um, in there.” For a second, she thought the boy thought she was crazy from the look she was receiving. Then, he broke out into a large grin again.

“Sorry, I won’t pry. But I can’t hear you very well, anyway.”

“O-oh.” She looked at him, confused. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve got bad ears, ‘suppose.” He shrugged. “Anyway, what’s your name? I’m Clint.” Natalya sniffed.

“What kind of name is that? And aren't you not supposed to tell strangers your name?” Clint pouted.

“Well, if you tell me _your_ name, we won’t be strangers!” He replied enthusiastically. Natalya scoffed.

“You’re ridiculous. My name is—“ _What was she supposed to say, now?_ “Er, Goldilocks.” Natalya stuttered out. She was a character from a book Natalya’s parents read to her. She always thought the girl was a bumbling fool, but it’ll do for now.

“You’re lying.” Clint pointed out. Natalya shook her head.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not!”

“You are!” Clint protested. “No one would name their kid with _brown hair ‘Goldilocks’_!” Oh. Natalya had to admit, he had a point there. “You’re funny, _Goldy_. But you’re also a horrible liar.” Natalya huffed in annoyance.

“I’m not.”

“You are! Well, never mind that. Where are you headed?”

“Um…” Natalya frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, alright. Would you like to come with me then?”

“To where?” All the paranoia her father beat into her growing up was screaming at her not to do so. It was telling her to run away, from the strange boy with defect hearing. But Natalya wasn’t listening to any of that. More than anything, she had realized, she wanted to follow him. Follow _Clint,_ away from the darkness of her own world.

“I’m going down to the sweet shoppe. Mum said I could get whatever I wanted since I got a good grade in my English class.”

“What’s a sweet shoppe?” Clint gasped, as if offended. Natalya briefly wondered if she said something wrong.

“Well, then what are we waiting for? I’ll have to treat you to something then, especially if you don’t even know what a bloody sweet shoppe _is_!” He tugged at her arm, leading her down the frozen streets of England. “They’re always the best around Christmas. Hey, do you think I could spring for a Gingerbread house? Mum never lets me get those really fancy ones.”

“Wait!” He paused, looking at her expectantly. “Why?” All her life, Natalya was taught to work for everything. To steal, to trick, to cheat— _there would never be enough for everyone to share_ , papa said. _So why was the boy being so nice to her?_

“Because.” He shrugged. “You’re nice, Goldy. Is it a crime to be nice back?”

“You’re doing this, out of niceness?” She snorted. “That’s a bit silly, isn’t it? Aren’t you expecting to get something back?”

“No.” Clint frowned, as if in some deep thought. “Well, I suppose there is one thing I would like.”

 “What is it?” Clint turned to look at her.

“I want to show you the sweet shoppe, right?” Natalya nodded. “But only if you promise to show me something next time, alright?” _Next… time?_ She nodded along, mutely. _He wanted to see her again_.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that’s doable.”

“Great!” He grinned. In spite of everything, Natalya smiled back.

* * *

After that day, Natalya’s world was no longer full of everlasting darkness. A little part of her hoped that maybe, just maybe, someday she’ll be able to break free of the ties that bind her to her duties as Black Widow. Maybe one day she’ll be able to live like Clint. Live at the end of this dark tunnel; live in the world of light.

But she never saw him again. She waited, and waited. She came back the day after that, and continued to wait. But it was as if the boy she spent hours laughing and talking with, had disappeared altogether. Her parents came back after that, and she could no longer leave the house. Her lessons carried on as usual, and so did her ‘duties’ as a pureblood heiress. On some days, Natalya hated Clint for showing her a world beyond lacing ballet shoes painfully tight or uncomfortable porcelain teacups and the distasteful conversation of the elite. She hated him for showing her more than rhythmic twirls and pointed feet, or the locations a bullet would go for it to be a fatal wound.

But she didn’t hate him. She didn’t hate him at all. In fact, she longed for the day she could go and show himself something just as amazing as what he showed her; kindness.

And show him, she did. The next time she saw him, the sorting hat had fallen over his eyes, and the entire great hall had been watching along with her. She had been ecstatic— until she realized he didn’t recognize her anymore, not without her glamour. It angered her even further to learn that he didn’t see her as anything more than a pretty face this time around. _Had this really been the person she cared so much about before_?

Perhaps he was just as shallow as the rest of them.

Natalya spent the next four years avoiding him, and in many ways, avoiding herself. Natalya was the girl who so foolishly believed there was a better world out there for her. Natasha was a liar, an alibi made to be fake. Natalia was simply just Stark pronouncing her native name wrong.

 But Black Widow? Black Widow was strong. And Black Widow, she became. She forgot about Clint, the same way she forgot the lack of love she felt towards her birth parents. However, despite swearing to herself she’d never associate with him again, she remembered what she owed him. So when she found the perfect opportunity to pay him back, she did. Beating up those sluggish seventh years had nothing on what she had been made to do at home, but nevertheless, it was an act kindness.

_I showed you my kindness, Clint Barton. And now I won’t own you anything anymore._

 

But Natalya of all people should’ve known what the impact of a small gesture of kindness had the power to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohOOHOHOOOO I BET NONE OF YOU EXPECTED THAT DID YOU and yeah this fic is going in a slightly different direction than I had originally planned but don't worry I swear not all chapters are this serious alright
> 
> And I did change Natasha's birthdate to around 60 years later- It fit in with the story more, and I figured since the Wizarding Society is so behind it made more sense? idk.


	5. Sweeter than Honeyduke’s

If anyone dared to ask, (which no one did, of course) Natasha would have venomously denied having felt any emotion which may stand as a synonym for ‘ _good_ ’ during her so-called ‘date’ with Clint Barton. In fact, it wasn’t even supposed to be considered a date. For starters, a date would entail two people engaged in a fully consensual romantic relationship courting each other during a mutually-desired outing.

None of which we were true for their relationship. _(Not that they had one, or anything. How silly would that be?)_ Never mind that the two of them had spent the prior forty-five minutes wandering aimlessly through a crowded Honeyduke’s. Natasha could practically _feel_ the irony of their situation rolling off in waves, and somehow the oblivious idiot hadn’t felt a damn thing. Stupid Barton.

Natasha tugged at her collar absent-mindedly, only to feel a faint blush creeping up her neck once she realized she wasn’t even wearing her scarf. Seeing as the last time she dared to venture out to Hogsmeade had been last spring — _Slytherin’s Quidditch Victory, all drinks on Fury_ — it was honestly not a big deal. She scowled as Clint waved at her enthusiastically, arms full of chocolate cauldrons and crystallized pineapple. Natasha didn’t like pineapple— too bitter, too sour. Acidic, almost.

“You’re not getting anything?” Natasha resisted the urge to continue scowling. It would be unsightly if a supposedly proper and prim lady like herself was caught making ghastly faces in public, after all.

“No, I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Not a fan of sweets.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Rest assured, _Barton_.” She grounded out in a agonizingly slow way, in a similar fashion a particular prissy adult would be found speaking to a frail toddler— which is eerily similar to their situation anyway. “I’ll be able to survive without the numerous amount of cavities and excessive sugar that comes with these processed junk foods. Unlike you, apparently. Now, let’s get out of this cavity-filled nightmare; if I’m not mistaken, we have Quidditch techniques in need of discussing.” He pouted. _He actually pouted_.

“Not even blood lollipops? Sounds like something you’d like, honestly.” Clint snickered. Okay, well fuck you too, Barton.

“What are you-“ Before she could even finish her sentence, an overtly large ego stuffed into an abnormally small man stumbled into the shop, either drunk or just shit stupid. T _ony Stark. How lovely._ So lovely that Natasha almost felt compelled to spray some cleaning solution on him if only to save herself from every STI in existence.

Two minutes later and the shelves were almost emptied of liquor truffles— a known favorite of the wacko teenage muggleborn genius. Natasha would know- she did spend most of her third year making sure they were never in stock, after all. Tagging along closely behind him was Pepper Potts, a permanent scowl/exasperated expression etched upon her face. Natasha didn’t need to divinations to know sooner or later, Tony was going to be, well, ‘K.O’-ed, to put it simply.

“That’s it; we’re getting out of here.” Huffing, she dragged a very confused Clint out of the popular store. “I need a drink.”

“I thought we were discussing Quidditch techniques?”

“We’ll discuss techniques _while_ I have a drink. Believe it or not, I’m not Gryffindor enough to face the rest of today sober.”

Clint only shrugged. It wasn’t like he didn’t already suspect half of the Slytherin house to be raging alcoholics anyway.

 

. . .

 

“So you’re saying the idiot tried to pull off a bloody _Wronski Feint_ in the middle of inter-house practice and nearly wrecked half of Ravenclaw’s broom supply?” Natasha sipped at her butterbeer, a concerned-yet-dubious expression filtering across her face. Sitting across from her was Clint nursing his hot chocolate, looking equally as concerned.

“That’s right. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“…And you’re sure your vision is better than your hearing.” Natasha replied flatly, watching in silent amusement as Clint turned a rather delicate pink.

“Hey! I can assure you, my vision’s _fine_.” And it was. Clint himself was very much aware of how much time he spent observing and taking in how beautiful every little detail, blemish, and shade of color the person sitting just across from him had. In every sense of the word, she was beautiful. No, her eyes weren’t perfectly round or at all doe like; they were honestly quite average sized— but there had always been a calculating and sharp edge to them, like the edges of a knife or perhaps a steep cliff. Clint rather liked that simile; he’d felt like falling enough times by simply looking into them to know the comparison was spot-on.

No, there were not impossibly bright, nor did they shine like emeralds. Frankly, that would be terrifying. They were a cool shade of jasmine green, a tribute to spring mornings in Paris. If Clint wasn’t such a romantic sap, he would’ve said they resemble lettuce leaves. Her eyelashes weren’t quite pitch black as many claimed, either. They didn’t resemble the night sky— Clint rather fancied them to be a beautiful cherry oak shade, like ambient light filtering through the windows during a sleepy afternoon whenever the light hit it at the right spot.

No, Natasha wasn’t flawless. But yes, she was perfect. The soft glow of the tavern kissed her hair like sunshine would with grass and wildflowers. There was a hint of a blush sprayed across her delicate cheeks, a rosy peach color.

“What are you staring at?” She was scowling now, but her the glimmer in her eyes conveyed actual interest, instead of simply annoyance and loathing.

He shook his head. “Nothing, nothing. Come on, let’s get back. I have a practice scheduled by five, is that okay?”

“You didn’t tell me that.” She frowned. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Clint reached forward and grasped the sleeve of her robe, causing Natasha to sigh exasperatedly.

“What-“ Immediately, a faint blush worked its way onto the cheeks of the flustered Slytherin. “Barton what in the world-“ A faint blue teardrop-shaped jewel sat on Clint’s open palm, fashioned into what looked like a necklace with a black cord strung through it. He grinned.

“It’s for you. For not punching me, I guess.” Natasha gave him a deadpan stare. “Or like, not beating me up. I know you’re probably capable of that. But mostly thanks for putting up with my ridiculous plan and agreeing to meet up with me. Yeah.” He smiled again, albeit a bit sheepishly. Natasha just stared. Clint scratched the back of his head awkwardly, trying to ignore the painfully awkward atmosphere of the whole situation. “Look, you don’t have-“

“Thank you.” There were a million things running through Natasha’s head at that moment. One, this was a ridiculous gift to give someone for agreeing to a not-date. Even if Barton had been asking for one since third year. Two, the necklace was ridiculously beautiful. Three,Clint was apparently adorable when he was flustered. _Wait, what-_

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Sorry, I was a little distracted. Really, thank you, Barton…” She hesitatingly added, raising a delicate eyebrow at a practically _glowing_ Clint. “But why blue? It doesn’t even match.” It was true. As beautiful as the necklace was, it would hardly fit _her_ \- The clash of her red hair and green eyes would only dull the jewel; it was hard enough color coordinating her outfits outside of her school uniform.

Clint shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a beautiful necklace, and beautiful things always go well together, right?”

If anyone dared to ask, Natasha would’ve denied how red her cheeks turned at that comment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being inactive, I've been a little occupied with school lately. Let's hope I'll be able to update faster from now on!


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